


The Argument

by FlameWolf



Series: My Strange Romance [4]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fingering, Some Fluff, possible eating disorder, slight exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameWolf/pseuds/FlameWolf
Summary: After what he did, Cherise is understandably hesitant about moving in with Marilyn Manson.  After some heated arguments, the truth accidentally comes out and the singer takes it upon himself to prove to her just how much he loves her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t know and have never met Marilyn Manson in real life. This fanfic is entirely fiction, none of it ever happened and none of it is for profit. You guys know the drill.
> 
> Author’s Note: Had an error with the previous installment and had to delete and reupload it. Hopefully the same issue doesn’t happen again. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter in the series!

“Brian, please.  We’ve been over this way too many times to count.  It’s just too soon for me to make such a huge leap,” sighed the weary female as she pressed the small phone to her ear.  She repressed the urge to either scream or rip her hair out.  Whichever came first really, she wasn’t picky at this point.  This was the fifth time this week he had called to badger her about moving in with him and she was beginning to get more than a little fed up.

“Do you really think I give a shit about that when I wake up every morning wishing for you to be here with me?  I don’t care if we’ve only actively been going out a month, I fucking need ya here,” came a snarl from the other end, the demand in the baritone making rage boil inside her.

“I’ve heard that before and look what happened!” she bit out before she could stop herself, sighing as bitter guilt filled her.  Pinching the bridge of her nose, the suddenly exhausted artist just wanted this call to be over with.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said.  It just came out.  I... I need to go.  I love you,” Cherise continued, hanging up before he could reply.

Whimpering, she flung herself into a chair by her kitchen table and held her dual haired head in her hands.  Purple dyed bangs tangled in her black nailed fingers as she released a frustrated noise.  It wasn’t that she  _ didn’t _ want to move in with him.  Far from it!  She just didn’t want to leap into such a commitment so soon after the entire mess of him leaving her for another woman.  She just couldn’t say he wouldn’t do it again with any certainty and that genuinely bothered her.  At least if she stayed here, she would still have a place to live if he decided he didn’t want her after all.  Besides, knowing him, this was more about his dick than anything else.

So, deciding she had more than enough of dealing with drama for the day, she shut off her phone and went into her studio to paint.  She would call him to explain tomorrow.  As of right now, she needed time to blow off steam and sort a few things out in her head.  If he kept pushing her like this, she didn’t know if she could keep going with this relationship.  Sighing, Cherise simply kept painting; oblivious to the hours that passed.  When she was eventually finished, she was bemused to find she had painted her boyfriend’s face on her canvas.  “Seems you’re determined to distract me, even in my subconscious,” she groused playfully, washing up before giving up her day as lost.

When she came out of her small studio, she was shocked to see the sun had set and her entire house had gone pitch black.  “Geeze, I really need to put a clock in there or something,” she sighed before flicking on a switch by the wall.  The lights came on in an instant, blinding her for a brief moment.  When her vision came back and she saw the room was empty, she was both unsurprised and relieved.  Some small part of her had almost expected Manson to be standing in her kitchen, a severe expression on his make-up coated face.  Laughing at her own ridiculousness, she walked up to the table she had set her phone on; powering the device back on.  What she was greeted with made exasperation return in a hard rush.

There were several missed calls as well as texts, each one a variation of the same plea.  Huffing, she contemplated just tossing the damn thing out and getting a new number entirely.  She didn’t even bother reading or listening to all of them.  Simply deleted them before turning the phone back off.  She was in no mood to deal with any of this and she was a bit surprised by how clingy he was acting.  She loved him dearly but she hadn’t expected this level of persistence.  To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she was aggravated or charmed.  It certainly showed he was thinking of her and wanted her to be around.  Still, this was starting to border on obsession.

Sighing, she swept her purple bangs behind her ears as she rubbed her blue eyes.  If she really looked deep inside herself, she was really only upset at him because it was getting harder for her to say no.  She had been a fan of his music for years, had fantasized about a relationship with him.  To have him showing that he wanted her presence so badly was a very strong lure.  “I  _ want _ to move in with him...  I just...,” she whispered to the empty house, laying her head down on the polished wood of the table as tears began to stream from her eyes.  It wasn’t long before she burst into full on sobs, all her stress and doubt leaving her at once.

Groaning, she stretched and was disoriented to find herself in her bed.  Sitting up, the groggy artist tried to remember just when she had fallen asleep; let alone how she had gotten to her room.  That was when she became aware of the smell of cooking food and a slight flutter of fear wormed its way into her belly.  There was also a faint sense of deja-vu and she got out of bed to dress herself before grabbing a small knife from her nightstand drawer to defend herself with.  As she slowly crept from her room, she found herself remembering just when this had happened last.  It had been soon after the event at the bar and she was greeted with a scene exactly like that as soon as she had made her way down the stairs.  There, in her kitchen yet again, was Marilyn Manson.

Blinking and almost hoping she was dreaming, she moved into the dining room and cleared her throat to get the singer’s attention.  She felt some sort of satisfaction when he jumped and whirled around while clutching his chest.  “Christ Cherise, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” he gasped out, before shifting slightly to keep half his focus on whatever he was cooking.

“And how do you think I felt to wake up to see an uninvited guest in my house, again,” she sighed, irritation mixing with faint amusement.  Some part of her had expected this after all the arguments they’d been having about her moving in with him.

The singer only sighed, running a hand through his short cropped hair as he fiddled with the pan.  “I can only imagine.  Please, just have a seat and let me make you breakfast.  I have a feeling the things we have to say to eachother are best said face to face,” he pleaded, his mismatched eyes, switching from her to the food.  Rolling her blue eyes, the purple banged femme shook her head as she took a seat at her table.

“Fine, but we talk after we eat.  I don’t like arguing on an empty stomach,” she conceded, fighting the urge to smile as he cursed and took the smoking food off the stove.  Soon, the rocker was serving her slightly burned bacon and eggs.

Thankfully, he sat across from her instead of next to her and they had a quiet meal.  Still, she wasn’t looking forward to what would happen once she was finished with her last bites.  Being around him felt so comfortable and he kept looking up at her like a lost puppy.  She had to fight to remember why she was supposed to be angry at him.  She even had a strong urge to just hug him, crawl into his lap and never get out but she owed herself more than that.  He was a rock star while she was still very much a nobody, on top of that he had already thrown her over once.  She had to remain resolved until he proved to her that he was worthy of her trust.

Manson seemed just as lost as she secretly felt, avoiding her eyes as he stared down at his full plate.  His bony hands flexed on the stained wood of her table as he seemed to be fighting to control his breathing.  “Before you say anything, I have a little something of my own to say.  I... I know why you’re so reluctant to move in.  I don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to reliability.  What you said over the phone was proof enough of that.  I need to prove to you that I’m serious about us,” he whispered, his voice small and quiet; much like a guilty child’s.  It was so far from what Cherise had expected, her mouth hung open as she tried to reconcile what he had said.

She had been expecting him to be full of fury and practically demanding she come back to California with him.  Hell, she had expected him to be flinging her over his bony shoulder and carrying her out the door right about now.  As it was, the only response she could manage was a rather baffled, “Wha?”  Surely this couldn’t be the same Antichrist Superstar that churches threw protests over and people feared.  Not this almost scared man who seemed unable to even look at her.  Unfortunately, none of this helped with her extreme urge to comfort this man.  Heaving a slow sigh, she reached across the table to lightly touch his hand.  This caused him to come close to jumping out of his skin, only serving in crumbling the wall she had put up to protect herself even more.  Then he was grabbed for her hand, as if he was terrified she would simply disappear.

“What you said last night... I did a terrible thing to you by leaving you for another woman without so much as a note.  In your mind, I could very easily do it again.  You have no proof of any changes I’ve been through or how I’ve felt without you.  All you really have is my word and that simply isn’t worth enough,” he continued, dark circles painfully evident under his mismatched eyes.  It was then she really took a good look at him and any further irritation immediately faded for worry.

The man looked haggard, his hair greasy and unkempt.  He even had stubble on his normally clean shaven face and he looked even thinner than he normally did.  She was sure that if he took off his shirt she would be able to see his rib cage in clear definition.  “Brian... you should eat...,” she found herself whispering, looking pointedly at his full plate of food.  The singer only shook his head before licking his cracked, pink lips.

“I’m not hungry.  Please, just sit down and let me finish,” the distressed performer sighed, giving the hand he had captured a light tug.  The young artist was so bewildered, she allowed him to coax her into a seat closer to him.

As soon as she was settled, the musician reached for her cheek with the hand that wasn’t clinging onto one of hers.  His fingers stopped inches from touching her skin but he didn’t lower his hand, seeming to fight with himself.  Deciding to grant him a bit of mercy, Cherise took the appendage with the one she had free to force it against her cheek.  The relief that came over his pale, strained features only served to drive the screw of guilt further into her heart.  “I just want an opportunity to show you what you mean to me.  All I ask is a week, maybe a few days if you don’t want me around that long.  Actions speak louder than words after all,” he whispered, finally daring to meet her eyes and revealing bald desperation as well as tears rimming his expressive orbs.

Closing her cerulean eyes, the artist took in a deep breath before shaking her head slightly and turning her face slightly to kiss his clammy palm.  “A week huh?  Let’s start with today and see how things go.  First, I want you to eat,” she demanded, slightly surprised when he released her face to begin consuming his breakfast.  He kept tight hold of her hand with his, making her continue to soften despite all her vows to herself.  It wouldn’t take much to get her to drop the icy act altogether and bundle him into bed so she could take care of him.  She could sense he was close to collapse, only continuing to be conscious through sheer willpower alone.

As it was, when he had cleaned his plate; she gathered both their plates before he could and began to wash them.  When she heard him get up and head toward the cooking implements, she turned to quirked her eyebrow at him.  “Go take a nap, you look dead on your feet,” she whispered, her heart aching for how tired he seemed.  Then that weariness disappeared for stark fear and she found herself heading toward him before she even realized she was moving at all.  Taking the painfully thin man into her arms, she felt a piece of her break when he took in a shuddery breath and hovered his hands over her back.  Even now, he acted like he was scared to touch her.

“I...  I’d rather be around you for the time being.  Please, I can at least clean the pans,” Manson insisted, swaying in place severely.

Cherise looked up at him through her purple bangs, pursing her lips as she mulled something over in her mind.  Breaking the hug in one motion, the now determined artist took one of the hands the singer still held in the air and lead him upstairs to her bedroom.  “The dishes can wait, you can’t.  I’ll lay down with you but you’re going to get some sleep,” she hissed, pulling him into the room and practically shoving him toward the bed.  The performer, of course, kept hold of her hand and pulled her as he allowed himself to fall face first onto the mattress.  Gently, the young woman tried to pull her hand out of his to help him undress; only to have him whimper as he turned on his side and gave her a frantic look as his grip tightened.

“I just want to help get those clothes off so you’re more comfortable,” she whispered, giving him a reassuring smile.  The exhausted musician gave a nod before sitting up and slowly releasing her hand.

Then he was lifting his shirt, jolting slightly when she touched his hands.  When he looked up, she gave another small smile as she began to help him.  As soon as the black t-shirt was over his head, she let out a gasp at just how skinny he was.  He was almost to the point of being dangerously emaciated and fresh scars littered his white chest.  Some of them even still had scabs, making more concern and just a hint of anger wash through her.  Still, she knew better that to yell at him for self harm.  Doing such a thing would only make the problem worse.  Instead, she made a small noise as she leaned down to begin kissing each mark.  This caused the singer to inhale sharply at first, flinching as her lips met his skin.

Flicking her blue eyes upward, Cherise saw him giving her a rather dazed look.  His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were dilated with his brow ridges furrowed slightly.  “I don’t like you hurting yourself but getting angry isn’t the answer,” she responded simply, her violet bangs hanging in her face as she sat up to unbutton his tight, black jeans.  The stunned celebrity could only nod, lifting his bony hips so she could simply slide his pants off.  She was unsurprised to see he lacked underwear and didn’t let her gaze linger on his nudity.  Instead she coaxed him to lay down on the side of the bed near the wall so she could clamber on next to him.

Despite how obviously tired he was, the superstar didn’t fall asleep.  His heterochromic eyes were fixed on her and his hands twitched on the sheets as if he wanted to touch her again.  If this was all just an act, it was a really good one and she soon found herself laying beside him as one of her arms draped over his waist.  With a sound that melted the last of the protective ice around her heart, the singer finally allowed himself to wrap his own arm around her and burrow into her chest.  Within seconds, he was out like a light; just how fast he was dead out telling her volumes about just why he had been so insistent.  “Oh Bri...  What am I going to do with you,” she sighed, kissing the top of his head as he began to snore softly.

If she needed any further proof that he wasn’t doing well, if she so much as shifted he would quietly keen in his sleep and tighten his hold slightly.  Despite the fact that he was much taller than her, the rocker kept his head burrowed in her breasts; curling into her as if hoping  _ she _ would be the one to protect  _ him _ .  After what seemed like endless hours, Manson finally fell into a sleep deep enough to at least allow her to get up to go to the bathroom.  Even then, she used the one attached to her bedroom and left the door slightly open in case he woke up.  An action that soon proved to be correct when she heard him begin calling her name in his sleep.

Unfortunately, she was in the middle of peeing when it happened so she was helpless to go to him.  To make things worse, her absence soon woke him up for real and he began to actually consciously call for her in an increasingly panicked tone.  “In the bathroom Brian!” she called, praying he wouldn’t see fit to just run in.  The Gods, as it turns out, have a strange sense of humor and the man she idolized for a lot of her life came bursting in like a rhino.  As if it weren’t embarrassing enough that a man who graced her walls and fantasies as a teen was now seeing her on the toilet, he was falling to his knees before here and taking her into his arms as he began to shake.

At first, the mortified painter wanted to demand he let her go and get out.  Then she took in just how hard he was shaking and she simply let it go to wrap her arms around him.  Even with the fact she was still helplessly peeing, Cherise only focused on assuring the distraught celebrity she was really there.  After a few moments, he finally calmed enough to stop shaking; pulling away to look her over with fear still clinging to his features.  “As you can see, I haven’t gone anywhere.  Would you mind leaving so I can have a bit of privacy?” she ventured to ask, her tone slightly playful as she gestured to her current position.  She wasn’t too surprised when the still naked celebrity emphatically shook his head.

“S-sorry... I can turn around but... it sounds silly...  I don’t want you out of my sight right now.  I’m... I’ scared you’ll run,” he confessed, swaying slightly as he turned his back on her.

Rolling her eyes; she finished her business, flushed, pulled up her pants and washed her hands before urging him back into the bedroom.  “Let’s get you settled for some more sleep.  I doubt you’ve had nearly enough from that nap earlier.  You were only out for a few hours tops,” she whispered, pushing him onto the bed and laying with him to keep him company.  Thankfully it didn’t take him long to relax again, his lanky limbs tangled around her as he snored softly.  He was holding her so tight, she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. Running her hand through his hair to keep him comfortable.

It as some time later when she found herself waking up to a dark room and an empty bed.  Shocked, Cherise sat up immediately to turn on a light; only more concerned when she saw no sign of Manson whatsoever.  After witnessing several nightmares and having to quiet him many times so he could get some sleep, the artist found it hard to believe he would leave under his own power.  That was when she smelled cooking food for the second time that day and relaxed with a slow breath.  Moving to get up, she startled when she saw the singer poke his head around the doorframe.

He looked just as surprised to see her awake as she did to see him standing there.  Then he gave a shameful grin as he gestured for her to come to him.  An invitation she rushed to accept, jumping to her feet and practically tackling him with a tight hug.  “Are you okay?” she whispered, remembering all too well his condition of yesterday.

“Yes and no...  The only reason I’m up is to make you something to eat.  Believe me, I kept checking on you every few minutes,” he replied, looking ashamed as he nuzzled her cheek with his gently.

Shaking her head slightly, she let go of him to step back just enough to be able to look up at his naked face.  “I’m not surprised after what you told me and how you acted.  Come on, let’s go down before that burns too,”  she suggested, leading the performer down the stairs and into the kitchen.  To her surprise, it was bordering on sunset outside and she came to the realization that several hours had passed.  They had both been out for most of the day.

“Sit, I’ll check on the roast in the oven,” suggested the taller man, gesturing to the table with a black nailed hand.

“Going all out huh?” she teased as she took a seat, a bit surprised to see he had gone through the trouble of laying out plates as well as silverware.

Humming slightly in agreement, the lanky musician moved to the oven to open the door and check on the food.  Once that was done, he stirred something in a large pot on the stovetop.  Just watching him trying so hard to make things up to her, let alone how homey everything felt, finally made the mental white flag go up.  She was done fighting something she wanted just as much as he did.  She was done drawing out the inevitable.  After what she had seen, she didn’t need anymore time to think things over.  So, getting up as quietly as she could, the dual hair femme moved toward the singer; wrapping her arms around him with a slow sigh.

Of course, Manson nearly jumped to the ceiling at the sudden contact but soon relaxed as he turned slightly to look at her.  “Alright Bri, I give.  I’d already forgiven you for what’s her name before you even came here.  My only fear was that...,” she began, trailing off as sorrow and anxiety colored her voice.  She was interrupted by a low snarl as the performer whirled to capture her face in both hands.  Before she could realize what was happening, a pair of pink lips met hers and the rocker was both melting into her and holding her possessively at the same time.

“The only reason I ever went after her was because I was afraid.  Cherise, I... I have some pretty severe issues.  Before I met you, I never met anyone I fell for so hard or as fast as I did for you.  When I realized just how much I couldn’t live without you already, I fucking panicked.  It wasn’t fair to you and it certainly wasn’t fair to that poor girl,” he hissed, his baritone haunted as he broke the kiss to trail his lips over her face.

“I’m just glad I figured it out before I lost you to someone else.  I can never apologize to you enough for what happened, just believe me when I tell you that it’ll never happen again,” he continued, his kisses growing more heated and lingering longer the closer he got to her mouth.

“I never want to hear you talk about how you’re afraid I’ll leave you.  If you give me time, I’ll show you why I make such a demand,” husked his gruff baritone just as a timer went off.

Next thing Cherise knew, she was being shoved back to the table so the rock star could remove the roast from the oven.  Giggling quietly to herself at the strangeness of current events, the young woman resumed her seat just in time to be served a healthy hunk of meat with a side of mashed potatoes.  Then Manson was sitting in a chair across from her, struggling with a bottle of wine he must have found up in her cupboards.  After a few moments, the cork came free with a loud pop; allowing him to pour the deep red fluid into two glasses.  It was nothing fancy, just a nice red that had a mellow enough taste to be pleasant to sip.  Taking the offered glass, the painter gave her strange lover a smile before lifting it in a toast.  “To wiping slates clean and a new beginning,” she declared, her heart soaring when his pale face lit up with a bright smile.

“To that and to us building a future together,” the superstar appended, clinking the rim of his wine glass against hers before taking a sip.  Giving a nod, Cherise took her own drink before digging into her food with gusto.

As soon as dinner was finished, the pair proceeded to have a friendly squabble over who would do the dishes.  After a few moments, it was Cherise who proposed a coin flip.  Producing a quarter, she allowed Manson to call first and flipped.  Catching the silver coin deftly she placed it on the back of her hand to reveal it was heads, not at all what the singer had declared.  Brushing off his vehement calls for best two out of three, the painter gathered their plates and moved to the sink.  Whistling merrily, she turned on the hot water full bore and poured in a healthy amount of dish soap.  Swaying her hips slightly to her mental music, she pulled out her scrub brush and began to wash.  She never noticed the look of absolute hunger that came over the singer’s pale face.

A pair of hands slowly landed on ample hips and it became her turn to nearly jump clear to the ceiling.  Barely biting back a scream as her heart hammered in her chest, the panting woman turned her head slightly to see Manson giving her a rather odd look.  It was a look that made her icy fear fade for warm pulses of arousal as her lips parted slightly.  A low rumble bubbled up from his bony chest, sounding almost like he was purring as his hands travelled up her waist.  “Brian, I have to...,” the artist began to protest, only stopping when his lips met hers.  With her hands buried up to her elbows in suds, Cherise was ill equipped to fight off the onslaught.  Not that she would really want to in the first place.

His tongue slowly entered her mouth to lap along her own, his hands cupping her large breasts through the t-shirt she wore.  Expert fingers began to tweak her nipples, a pleased noise escaping him when he found she wasn’t wearing a bra.  Plucking her buds to aching attention, he moved his hands to the hem of her black shirt; lifting the cotton material over her head.  Unfortunately this meant he had to break the kiss but he was soon latching onto her neck once the article of clothing was clear.

Cherise was dimly aware of the fact that with the setting sun, the lights on and the position of her kitchen window that anybody driving or walking by at that moment would be treated to a rather erotic sight.  They would no doubt be able to see her breasts as well as the way the man behind her played with her sensitive nipples.  Yet, some part of her only felt more turned on by the possibility; a low moan escaping her as the goth rocker moved his hands from her breasts to the rim of her pants.  The snap of the button releasing from the denim was as loud as a gunshot in the empty house but neither of them could really care, their mouths meeting in a passionate seal.

As his tongue curled around and pet hers sensually, his hands skillfully slid her pajama bottoms off; taking her panties with them.  Her hands, still among the dishes and buried in sudsy water moved up to grip the windowsill as the man behind her began lightly play with her aching slit.  Feather light touches around her puffy outer lips as well as around her awakening clit drove her wild and a soft sigh of his given name gusted from her.  “I’ve barely touched you and you’re so very wet for me,” came an arrogant sounding rumble as teeth bit gently at the scruff of her pale neck.

“I always am Bri.  You’re literally the only man I’ve felt this alive with, whose touch didn’t engender simple disgust.  Your voice, your scent; its all I can think about when I’m alone,” she confessed, her heart stuttering when the performer gave a feral sounding grunt as his fingers plunged into her tight, wet, silken heat.  The two, long digits gently plyed her open, drawing deep groans as her legs began to shake from the thick waves of need rolling over her.

“Mmmm, so I wasn’t the only one,” Manson rasped, his fingers moving deeper until they hit something that made her see white and inhale sharply.

His chin rested between her shoulderblades as he gave a gruff coo of ‘there it is.’  Then he was stroking the same spot once again, slowly dragging the callused pads of his fingers along it in a torturous manner.  The sounds she made in response almost didn’t sound human as bright stars of pleasure filled her vision.  It was all she could do to stay on her feet, let alone pay attention to what the singer was doing.  Needless to say, she didn’t notice him reaching forward until she heard the window in front of her slide open a good portion.

Before she could ask, he was brushing that magical spot inside her and she was keening his name.  “I want the entire neighborhood to hear you kitten, to see you.  I want them to know just who is bringing you pleasure as well as who you belong to,” came a snarl in her ear, his weight and heat pressing on her back as his fingers continued to push her towards what could possibly be the most violent orgasm she had ever had in her entire life.  Then she was cumming with a yowl, fairly certain she was shaking the windows from the volume of her cry.  If her neighbors didn’t know what was going on, they certainly did now.  Then he was entering her, hilting inside her while she was still orgasming and bringing on another right on top.

A wail of his name ripped from her and her hands gripped knuckle white on the windowsill as he began to move slowly.  Gasping and bracing herself on the sink, Cherise allowed her head to loll as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her.  She barely had time to catch her breath as he began to pound into her.  The tip of him hit her cervix each thrust forward and he growled steadily as her vision whited out.  Then she was cumming explosively for a third time, the only thing keeping her from collapsing to the floor Manson’s hold on her waist as he emptied into her.  Soft lips peppered kisses on her back as the singer gently lowered them both to the floor.  Moving her purple bangs out of her face, he pressed a loving peck to her forehead.  “Even with your decision, I would still like to give it a week or so.  Besides, I could use a vacation,” the performer whispered in a throaty voice, his bony arms wrapping around her.

“That’s fine with me, I have a few things to take care of before I move out anyway.  I have to pack and prepare to sell this place, let alone decide what furniture I’m going to keep,” she responded, nestling into his chest and sighing as she drifted off into a peaceful sleep.  Above her, Manson only smiled before scooping her into his tattooed arms and carrying her upstairs.


End file.
